Masked
by Lukeprism
Summary: It's just a comfort thing, really.


_**DISCLAIMER: Mother/EarthBound doesn't belong to me. It never will, either, so get used to it.**_

—**s—t—a—r—t—f—i—c—t—i —o—n—**

_Masked_

I wear the helmet because I like it.

Wait.

That's not true.

Well, it kind of is. In a way.

I wear the helmet because I like the way it obscures my face.

No, I am not self-conscious, nor do I have a low self-esteem.

Well, maybe a bit self-conscious.

I wear the helmet because it hides my identity. It hides who I really am, prevents people from even beginning to truly know or understand me. Because they don't need to. Because they can't. Because I am afraid that I will meet someone one day who will know me better than I know myself.

And I don't want to have to face something like that.

I know that I am not like the other robots here, the manmade humanoids. I know this because of how soft my skin is, how I need to use the bathroom on a regular basis, how I have to eat to keep myself going, and by the traces of emotion I feel sometimes, usually while I am dreaming. I think they tried to restrain that part of me, keep my emotions from interfering with any sort of judgement and prevent me from feeling remorse over the things we do here.

I don't think it's something you can control like that. It never goes away, not as long as you use a (once) living base.

No, I am not a robot. I am a chimera, a cyborg, a halfbreed of sorts. My brethren are all the weird animal crosses the scientists have made, the Cattlesnakes and the Mecha-Lion, things like that. Yes, I call them things, for what else is there to call them? They certainly aren't animals anymore, from all the cables and components required to mesh two entirely different species together. But I would call myself a thing too.

Yes, I know _what_ I am. I just have no idea as to who.

The doctor called Andonuts told me that I was dead. That they found my body at the base of a great cliff. Suicidal? No, not me. He said that I had been mauled to death by one of their own chimeras, the Mecha-Drago. What a lovely way to go.

He said that he did not know who I had been before, but that I was now the commander of Master's army, and that I should be proud. The commander of an army? That should sound good, right?

It really isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Sure, I'm a high-ranking officer that has special privileges and all. I've got a female (speaking of outer appearances only, of course. Robots have no specific gender) maid and hundreds of subordinates to order around and whatnot. That's great, really. But what does it mean to me? Not a damn thing, that's what. I don't know for sure, but I figure something like a high-rank is gratifying only if you've served for a long amount of time and worked your way up the ladder. I've done neither. And I don't need a mecha-maid or people below me to do all my dirty work; I'm perfectly capable of handling such things.

I told Master about this. I talk to him sometimes, when it's convenient for him, anyway. He didn't seem to hear, or if he did he simply ignored me. He always ignores that which he doesn't want to hear. I learned long ago that he did not care for me in the way I presumed people care for one another, but in the way a person cares for a toy, relishing the newness and taking care of you while it's convenient, until they find a new toy to play with. He reminds me of a child stuck in a very old, worn out body. We have a very simple relationship. He tells me what to do and I do it. Not because he's really and truly my Master, though I may call him that. Just because that's the way it's always been done around here. Who am I to change a cycle that works?

Anyway, back to who I am.

I don't know.

I try to remember, sometimes. I just close my eyes and search my memory card for some trace of the person I am, the one person I need to know but don't. I don't usually come up with anything other than one of two things.

One, a woman. She has long brown hair and a soft red dress on, and she's always reaching out to me with outstretched arms. But I never can remember what her face looks like.

Two, a name. Lucas. I don't believe it is mine, because it doesn't fit. It doesn't fit like a name should fit a person. But it does sound very familiar, and I suddenly feel something inside me when I think it, but I never know what it is. And then after a moment it's gone. I suppose it must have been the name of someone important.

But neither of these things have anything to do with me directly, so they aren't of much use.

I think about them everyday anyways.

The day that they turned me on, they gave me this helmet. Said that it would help magnify my psychokinetic power, and that it would signify my status as Commander. People cower when they catch sight of it, of me. I wonder why. I've never done anything to cause such reactions. I just do what Master tells me. I guess they're afraid of my power, of what I could do with it. It gets annoying sometimes, everyone shaking in their boots when they see me. But is it better to be liked and taken lightly, or feared and taken seriously? I don't much care.

But I like to think it's better to be feared.

Nope. I have no idea who I am. Though, I suppose if you want to get technical, I'm talking about who I was, because I can't possibly he the same exact person I was before I died. Now, I am a commander, feared by most, known by no one. Not even myself. I'm too afraid of what I'll find if I try to get to know me. But I'd like to know who I was. Before all this chimera business. I don't fancy this idea of my destiny being to pull all the Seven Needles when the time comes, because that's not the destiny that was bestowed upon me by the powers that be. That's the destiny the scientists and Master forced me into. I don't like that. I want my old destiny back, because I feel like my potential is being wasted here. Like my life, if you can even call it that, is being thrown out the window day after day. It couldn't possibly have been my time. The human part of my body seems far too young. I must have made a mistake. I wonder what that mistake was, and how I would have turned out if I had never died in the first place.

I guess I'll never know.

I walk about the halls of this place, following orders given by my Master, wearing this helmet of mine that I don't really like but at the same time like a lot because it hides me, shelters me from everyone else. I follow orders from my Master because that's all I know. And that's all I'm really here for, isn't it? I guess I should be dead, after all. I do what I'm told because I owe them. I owe them my sort-of life. I don't know anyone, and no one knows me. Not even you. Even after everything I've told you, you may think you know me, but in actuality, you're like that doctor named Andonuts. I've told him all this before, but that doesn't mean he knows me.

No one does. Not even me.

This helmet, this mask, it's a sanctuary. I may be feared for my power and because of how different I am, but I don't think I'm strong enough to face those around me without it. It hides me, at least the part of me that counts, from the world, keeping everyone in it all out, so no one can know me. No one could anyway, but my helmet ensures it. It's better that way, not to be known, not to be attempted to be known. Because even if they knew, who would truly _understand_? Who would truly understand me, with all my twisted logic and upside down philosophy?

No one.

And it hurts. It hurts, knowing you're going to be alone all your sort-of life, with no one to go to for any kind of help or support. No one to share your ups and downs with, no one to rely on, no one to be strong for, no one who genuinely cares. You're just there, and people can see you but they ignore you unless it's convenient for them. You're no one, destined for nothing but what others force you to achieve, with no will of your own. It hurts, even to someone like me, who doesn't know what an actual life is like, it hurts.

But I'm too strong to let something like that bring me down.

This is what I tell myself, to keep going.

Because if I don't, that would be like quitting, like giving up.

I don't want to give up again. I don't want to waste this life, this second chance that I've been given.

So I will please those who brought me back by carrying out their wishes.

Because that's all I'm here for. That's my sole purpose.

And unlike my last life, I will fulfill it.

—**e—n—d—f—i—c—t—i—o—n—**


End file.
